Elysium
by Parallaxm
Summary: Kurokawa Hana was a realist. But knowing what was real only made her loathe it more. [Chronological one-shots. Ratings will vary.]
1. Germinate

_Germinate - "to start to grow from a seed or spore into a new individual."_

Poem by Emily Dickinson.

* * *

I hide myself within my flower,

that wearing on your breast,

you, unsuspecting, wear me too—

and angels know the rest.

.

I hide myself within my flower,

that, fading from your vase,

you, unsuspecting, feel for me

almost a loneliness.

- _With a Flower_

* * *

01

.

_"__Haven't you noticed that Okada-sensei has been acting strangely lately?"_

_"__This is her third time... if she shows up late again, they'll fire her for sure."_

_"__Cut her some slack, guys; I heard her mother died recently."_

_"__Really? I heard that she'd just gotten divorced. Looks like she isn't taking it well..."_

The students whispered amongst themselves, rumors accruing like unpaid debts—endlessly. Amid the buzz, a slight breeze stirred, inviting a flurry of cherry blossom petals. A few girls shook the petals out of their hair, but the male students remained largely indifferent to the season and its trademark.

Kurokawa Hana knew for a fact that none of the rumors were true.

For one, the homeroom teacher still wore her gold wedding ring. Okada-sensei was frank to a fault, and Hana could not imagine the practical woman pining over the past, if the divorce rumor held an ounce of truth. Something had to be said for the dark pools beneath her eyes, but a deceased mother could not be the case—the class trip to Namimori shrine on New Year's Eve had convinced her of that. Okada-sensei had thanked the spirits for keeping her mother in robust health. If her mother had abruptly died, the woman would have, at the very least, taken a few days off, even perfunctorily. She was filial like that.

But she hadn't. She had persisted, albeit with uncharacteristic tardiness.

When at last Okada-sensei came stumbling through the sliding door, all heads swiveled and all voices choked to a halt, as though they had been collectively muted by remote control. Belatedly, the class stood to welcome their teacher, bowing once.

The thirty-something woman unloaded the class material on her desk, taking a moment to adjust to the warmer temperature indoors. She made quick work of the buttons on her navy blue petticoat and straightened her pressed white shirt. "Good morning." She faced the students with a wan smile, composure unbroken. "Let's get started."

* * *

02

.

Sometimes, Hana wished she could be more like Okada-sensei. The woman was a study in grace and efficiency. She sported a bob cut, claiming it "low-maintenance," but Hana had no way of internalizing the statement without getting a haircut herself—which wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

She would never admit it, but she took pride in the length and health of her hair.

To her parents, it was a "curtain" that ought to be drawn with a headband, or some sort of feminine decoration. To her gym teacher, it was a "hindrance" and "aerodynamically unfavorable." To Kyoko, it was simply "Hana."

And to Hana, it was at once a source of strength and vulnerability. She took care of her hair to remind herself that her efforts would come to fruition one day—that a likeminded soul would come to appreciate her. It was a mark of femininity, to be sure, but not a childish one. It granted her a sense of control, knowing she could fishtail braid, crown braid, and French braid, and choosing not to _because she could_. Okada-sensei had commented once that the hairstyle added a few years to her age. She had taken it as a compliment and hadn't looked back since.

Because really, what was the point of childhood? Of infanthood? You gave your parents a chance to play house and made a mess of everything in your path, hygiene nonexistent. You drank in high-pitched television programs and drooled all over the place. You cried when you scraped your knee and waited for someone to pamper you.

That was all there was to it.

Kyoko had laughed gently in the face of her cynicism and added, "But _you_ were a child once, Hana."

She had felt the heat inching up the nape of her neck, perspiring beneath the weight of her hair (annoyed by the length for once), and muttered, "Don't remind me."

She loathed children for their sense of entitlement.

And how fickle their loyalties were! Sucking their thumb and glaring up at a stranger they would be starry-eyed over the minute they received some sort of impressive bribe. She had babysat her neighbor's five-year old twins two summers ago, and made a conscious decision thereafter to avoid babysitting at all costs.

Their aunt had paid them a visit, and the kids had completely ignored Hana, fawning over their relative and the presents she'd brought from a trip abroad. Hana had patiently prepared the previous night's leftovers for lunch as per the mother's instruction, but the boys would have none of it. They threw a fit and accused Hana of spoiling their fun, as she "always did." _It would be better if you just went home_, they said. Their aunt then decided to take them out for lunch, inviting Hana out of courtesy. Hana had declined, and finished the soggy tempura herself to avoid a confrontation with the mother. From observation, Hana knew that the mother would never rebuke her children when someone else could shoulder the blame. She cooed at them with a tone reserved for puppies, and they drank it all up, lavishing the special treatment.

What kind of royalty was the damn woman raising?

She'd gone home that night wrung dry of compassion for children. Absolutely thankless, they were.

The first time she encountered Sasagawa Kyoko, she had thought the girl childish.

By her second encounter, she knew she would not be able to continue avoiding Miss Sunshine, and the ripple of soft laughter that oft accompanied her words. Hana had questioned the girl if she had ever been bullied (surmising her nature from the number of times she responded to favors with, "It's no problem at all,"), and Kyoko had replied, "Bully me? Why would anyone want to do that?"

She wanted to groan, _so you're _that_ sort of person._

"Eh? You're eating with us today, Hana? I thought you didn't like hanging around me."

"Someone has to look out for you and your naiveté," she had grumbled, letting the cover of her bento clatter loudly on the desk. In truth, she often wondered if there were ulterior motives to her friendship with Kyoko. The girl was serene in a way that implied a smooth life. She took challenges in stride, however, and possessed excellent mental health. She wasn't saccharine to the point of insincerity, but she was sweet enough to make Hana muse over what had started their friendship in the first place.

Perhaps she'd thought more good would come her way if she was around the essence of goodness.

After all, Kyoko had even spurred Tsuna to (occasionally) get his act together.

She could respect her for that.

She'd spotted a raving _thing _in her arms (stunning green eyes with an outrageous afro and getup) the other day, and Kyoko had waved her over. "Come meet Lambo-chan!"

It was a testament to their friendship that Hana had inched closer, leaving a good five feet between them. She cringed as the boy began to fervently pick his nose. "No thanks," she said, and turned on her heels. "See you tomorrow."

She loathed children for the way they reduced adults to blubbering idiots, happy for a chance to mother someone and soak up their conditional affection. As adults treated children like pups, so children treated adults like faithful canines, at their service.

Ironic, wasn't it?

The sunset was too saturated for her taste, but she welcomed the closing of the day. She remembered staring up at the cirrus clouds, likening their umbrella shape to the wisps of a willow tree. She also recalled the distinct thought that Kyoko was getting involved in something she didn't know about. The girl wasn't an idiot, though she could be reduced to blubbering. If she was keeping secrets, she must have her own reasons. Nonetheless, it made Hana uneasy. She was no idiot either. If Kyoko didn't confide in her, she likely wouldn't confide in anyone.

To worsen matters, her brother had perfected a vanishing act.

Hana could say with reasonable certainty that she understood Kyoko, differences of personality aside. She could not say, however, that she grasped anything at all about her brother. Though the third years were known to be more detached, Ryohei was anything but. Still, he was somehow more elusive than the rest of them put together.

What was he thinking?

* * *

03

.

The students milled about the classroom, nonsensically theorizing over Okada-sensei's fourth late appearance. Last time, they had remained in their seats, wary of misconduct if their teacher happened upon them. This time, they had no such reservation.

Oddly disgruntled, Hana gazed out the window. Her focus sharpened when she noticed a white head sprinting in the direction of the school's back entrance. She glanced immediately to Kyoko's seat—the tawny-haired girl sat fiddling with her pencil, oblivious or purportedly so to the noise around her.

The day progressed at a laggard pace.

The next morning, Hana was walking down the hall when the same head of white came running in the opposite direction. She moved out of his way just as he moved out of hers, and the result was risibly ineffectual.

"I am extremely sorry," he bowed quickly, too busy to help her up (not that she expected him to—he was too brash and brazen for propriety of any kind). He had lifted a leg to resume his mad dash when she curtailed him with a cutting, "Hold on."

He glanced back at her warily.

Though she respected Kyoko, Hana was in no way obligated to respect Ryohei. She steered clear of him and the intense aura he emitted wherever he went. If Kyoko was the essence of goodness, her brother seemed the essence of trouble—the cuts and bruises spoke for him.

"Can you spare five minutes?" She picked herself up, dusting off the pleated blue skirt.

Ryohei hesitated. "I'm extremely—"

"Cut the bullshit."

He reeled back, startled into silence. He took care not to swear in Kyoko's presence, and Kyoko never swore at all, to the best of his knowledge. Hearing her friend curse made him suddenly worry his sister would pick up the habit. He racked his brain for a name—something, anything. Rather embarrassedly, he concluded that he could not recall the girl's name. She was admittedly obscure, and rarely spoke out. He seldom noticed anything outside of the extreme.

"Like it or not, Kyoko's already involved in whatever you're doing these days. Keeping her isolated will only put her in more danger. Is that what you want?"

A cold frown twisted his features. "No. But I don't see what this has to do with—"

"Me?" She snorted. "Any idiot can see that your sister is struggling. She's less happy these days, and when Kyoko is unhappy there's always a valid reason." Hana paused for effect. "Unless, of course, you're an _extreme _idiot, in which case you've probably been too _busy _to notice at all."

The frown evolved into a glare, but Hana had the odd notion he was glaring at himself.

"Thank you for letting me know." He bowed again before blazing down the hall.

He had taken her reproach surprisingly well.

Then again, according to Kyoko, Ryohei had never reneged on a promise.

* * *

04

.

Kyoko had begun to acquire a similar shade of purple under her eyes, mimicking Okada-sensei's sleepless appearance. Her mood had improved, however, and Hana had no idea what to make of it.

"Did you say something to my brother a few days ago?" she turned to Hana.

"Why do you ask?" Hana quirked a brow.

Kyoko chuckled to herself, cheered by the fact. "He asked about you the other day. My brother usually doesn't acknowledge anyone but potential club recruits. You must've made a lasting impression."

"As if," the taller girl waved dismissively. "But I'm glad if it helped any. Want to stop by the pastry shop after school today?" Hana knew better than to interpret Kyoko's buoyancy as a full recovery. If anything would augment the process, it was a mouthful of tiramisu at _Colombo's Cakes._

"Oh! Well... I promised Haru I would meet her after school. You're welcome to join us—I'm sure she'd like to meet you." Kyoko tactfully arranged the sentence to imply that Haru would like Hana, and not the other way around (she could never be sure of what suited Hana. The girl had picky taste).

Hana scrutinized Kyoko's tone for any "I'm-inviting-you-but-I-hope-you-don't-accept" politeness.

"Okay," she relented. "Who is she?"

Encouraged, the russet-haired girl continued, "A friend from Midori Middle. She has a very... _enthusiastic _character," she laughed. "She's fun to be around—you'll see."

Hana knew better, but took her friend's words personally anyway. Irritated, she reminded herself that _children_ liked fun. _Adults_ indulged the intellect, not mindless play. So what if she wasn't fun?

She dreaded the meeting all the same.

.

.

.

She found she didn't mind Haru as much as she had anticipated. The girl ran her mouth, but could insert a clever argument where necessary. She could not imagine them being good friends in a school setting, however, despite her behavioral resemblance to Kyoko. They shared little common ground, and every giggle and mention of cosplay only widened the gap between them. Hana could easily imagine Haru sitting in the front row, heatedly countering the gossip surrounding Okada-sensei with outlandish ideas of her own.

Thirty minutes into their meeting and three cakes later, Hana wanted to leave.

She wasn't bored_,_ but she was growing tired of their ceaseless chatter. Befriending Kyoko had already put her outside of her comfort zone. Linking arms with Haru would put her out of her mind.

A man crossing the street briefly snared her attention.

Upon closer inspection, she realized (with no small disappointment) that he was not a man, but a boy. Yet his confident stride and sleekly outfitted suit begged to differ. The cow print was an acquired taste, but she could forgive eccentricity for virility and maturity. It seemed he had both in excess.

Her eyes traced the curls that framed his Italian features—the straight nose, witty lips, and sharp eyes. The boy turned abruptly, as though noticing her stare. A flare of warmth stirred in her stomach and she quickly broke eye contact with a gulp of coffee, coughing as the scalding liquid burned her tongue. When she dared a peek to her right, he was gone.

Both girls looked to their companion, concerned.

Hana held up a reassuring hand, as if to say "I'm alright,"—but it seemed to Haru that the hand moaned, "I've had enough." The brunette cocked her head to a side, studying the long-haired girl. "You don't look so good," she exhaled at length. "Do you want to head back? You seem pretty tired. Can't blame you—school's just started again."

Tossing her a grateful glance, Hana smiled mildly as she stood and gathered her jacket in her arms. "Yeah, I think I'll call it a day. It was nice meeting you, Haru. Sorry to leave so soon, Kyoko."

"We're coming with you," Kyoko rushed, hands raised as if to steady her friend should she totter like a drunkard. "Besides, it's almost closing time."

Hana swallowed a twinge of annoyance. "I'm fine, really. You two chat for a bit longer; from the amount you discussed today, it doesn't seem like you get to meet that often."

Her schoolmate flushed, nodding hesitantly. "I haven't seen Haru in a while. But are you—"

"I'll be alright. I promise."

The assurance seemed to do the trick. Hana inwardly questioned if anyone had ever let Kyoko down before. She certainly did not want to be the first.

Haru waved warmly as Hana left the shop, the bell ringing with the opening of the hefty oak door.

She dimly pondered why she felt as though the streets had become narrower. There were fewer people in the streets; if anything, they should seem _wider_. She waited to cross the road, reminded of the boy she'd seen earlier. With a jackhammering pulse, she glanced all around her, an edge of desperation in her movement.

He really had vanished.

A dozen thoughts accosted her at once. _Love at first sight is a farce. What are you, a little girl? Stop thinking like that. He was a wearing pricey-looking suit—probably a spendthrift with a head of hot air. Cow print—what the hell was up with that? Granted, it's preferable to leopard print, but… stop, just stop it. Get a hold of yourself. _

So Hana got a hold of herself.

* * *

05

.

A boy cracked a crude joke during a math lesson, something about tangents and curves. A rumble of laughter followed, and he ducked his head, modestly pleased.

Kyoko blushed.

Hana felt her self-control waning, and glared out the window. She had finished the worksheet before class had even started, but hid it wisely in her notebook. No one needed to know she received top marks; they would only nag her to tutor them or envy her from afar, both of which were a bother. Grades were only a means to an end—they didn't matter in and of themselves. But try telling that to a kid whose parents are bent on Todai, the only national university no one could best when boasting at ten year reunions.

Furtively, she wondered where the cow-print suit boy had gone. Wondered why the most interesting development in her life had come and gone within seconds.

Wondering when she had become so pathetic.

_Most interesting development in my life? I need to get a life. _But her suburban upbringing reasserted itself, ruling her thoughts with an iron fist. _Exotic allure is superficial; it's only a phase. It'll only bring trouble. Don't stand out too much. Just stay as you are. _

_Just stay as you are. _

Would things continue the way they were, if she stayed the way she was?

Kyoko had been spending an increasing amount of time with Haru, and though she extended the invitation to Hana each and every time, Hana couldn't muster the motivation to join them. Eventually, Kyoko had stopped asking, avowing that Hana could approach her anytime she was interested, that she understood Hana must be too busy (Hana was not too busy) and that she would always be there to listen whenever Hana wished to speak (Hana did not wish to speak). She didn't partake in their cake-shop conversations as much as she observed. Watching them was like looking into the sun; it hurt her eyes.

Hana didn't begrudge her for making another friend, of course. She was genuinely glad Kyoko had secured another person to trust.

It had only brought to light the inconvenient truth that perhaps Hana had only trusted Kyoko.

She was all too happy to inform her parents of her friend, eager to placate them and their worries that their "pedantic, stand-offish" daughter was not lacking interpersonal skills. But she had made few friends throughout middle school. Now, as a first-year in high school, not much had changed. She could not even entertain the notion of bangs. They were simply frills on the cake, and Kurokawa Hana was not one for frills on anything.

Most importantly, she was not fond of irreversible actions. One could call it "boring", but it wasn't like she only played it safe. Hell, she had taken up her crazy uncle's offer to go skydiving the summer before. Her desire to experience the adrenaline rush had trumped her desire to remain in control.

That was all.

If there was one immutable thing she enjoyed, it was her friendship with Kyoko. The two had remained in touch over the years, though they were separated by different classes. Luckily, Kyoko had landed in the same class as Haru, and the two were regularly seen together in the halls.

Ryohei's presence was just as scarce, if not more. The cuts and scrapes he incurred only grew more severe, manifesting in the form of broken arms and black eyes.

Undeterred, he bounced back.

How he did it, Hana had no idea.

But she felt that something had changed between them. When they passed each other in the halls, he quickened his pace and sped past her, a gust of musky scent left in his wake. She couldn't pinpoint any confrontation that would rile him so, apart from her reminder several years back about his neglectful treatment of Kyoko.

Then again, he had always struck her as one to hold a grudge, particularly when pride was involved.

She felt herself growing more and more ordinary as she felt him growing more and more... well,_ extreme. _There was no other way of putting it. His gaze was always forceful, as though he expected you to challenge him to a match in the ring. Most shied away from it, preferring to stare off into space as they addressed him. Hana held his gaze, but he would not look at her.

And for some reason, that ticked her off.

But she would take in several deep breaths and put it all behind her. It was easy enough to do, what with all the teachers clamoring about university and exams and the meaning of life. She imagined the cow-print suit boy smirking, "_Lame_. You gotta stop and smell the roses." _Shut up, you, _she would growl to herself, earning a few alarmed looks from her classmates. _The world has no time for the likes of you. I have no time for you, either. _

On a windy spring afternoon, Hana mounted her plum purple bike and kicked the kickstand, preparing for the half-hour journey home. She had to commute to the high school, but it was well worth it; the campus was beautiful and she had always been sensitive to the month of April and its blossoms. Kyoko liked to joke that Hana was aptly named after all.

Hana didn't get very far.

Ryohei ran right in front of her, blocking her path. Had she not pressed the brakes until they left red welts on her fingers, she would have flattened him. Her hair swept forward, obscuring her profile. She touchily flicked it out of her face.

The seventeen year-old panted lightly, eyeing the girl directly for the first time in years.

She noticed his extensive musculature and thought perhaps the bike would have been flattened instead. He was still as lean as ever, but his abdomen was rock solid, and she retracted her gaze too soon to assess any other result of his training. She wound the pedal up with one foot, keeping the other on the ground.

"Hana," he said, as if testing out her name. She personally found it a tad too bold; he had only ever addressed her by surname. But she didn't correct him, fearing he would hold it against her.

"Yeah?"

"I have an extremely important match tonight."

She nodded. "Okay..."

"You should come."

That caught her off-guard. "What? Why? Isn't Kyoko your 'luck'?"

He laughed nervously. "She doesn't like to watch. But you should come."

There was something illogical about asking the close friend of his sister, who didn't care for boxing, to watch him box. Hana tested the brakes, wondering if he'd get the hint. She found it difficult to maintain eye contact, and berated herself for backing down the one time he returned her probing glance. "Sorry, I... um..."

Blanching, he blurted again, "You should come."

She sighed. "That's not a reason."

He bit his lip, clearly unprepared for her original question. "Seven P.M., local arena."

With that, he jogged off.

Hana found herself feeling glad that he had forgone a shirt—he would have been sweating down the front and back, and nothing repelled her more than sweat-soaked men. Under any other circumstance, she would have flatly refused. Watching men beat each other to a pulp was not a leisure activity of hers. She caught herself, freezing in her tracks as her fingers found the brakes.

Since when did she refer to Ryohei as a "man"?

She banished the thought. Man, boy, whatever—pure semantics.

There was no doubt that if she failed to show up for his "extremely important match," there would be consequences. She didn't believe he would do anything threatening to her, as he was associated with Kyoko, and Kyoko had full faith in her brother. She would vouch for him any day—but Hana would not be won over so easily. Kyoko had vouched for Tsuna, too, but Hana wouldn't trust that boy with anyone's life. She had seen him whimpering from a failed geometry test, jumping up two feet at the sight of a spider, and sitting squeamishly outside the day they dissected frogs.

But something had compelled Ryohei to approach her.

She would find out what.

Hana dialed home while pedaling on, the phone wedged in-between her ear and right shoulder. She opened the front door while massaging her neck, grimacing from the cramp.

"Hana, is that you? What were you saying about an evening study group?"

Had she made the right decision?

.

.

.

She entered the stadium feeling utterly out of place.

The guy in the ticket booth had laughed when he saw her. "Come to support your sweetheart?"

"No," she bit out, prickling. "Am I not allowed to come for myself?"

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "The doors close in a few minutes; I suggest finding your seat quickly."

She maneuvered past overzealous fans, murmuring countless "excuse me"s and "sorry"s. The stadium was half-full, but the volume of cheering would leave an outsider none the wiser. For the most part, people were divided into two clusters, one on each side of the ring. That left the adjoining spaces conspicuously empty. Hana ventured into the top line of bleachers, somewhat apart but still extended from the group. Since she had made the effort of coming, she might as well snag a decent spot. The metal benches were hard and cold. Breathing into her fists, Hana couldn't help thinking that some sadistic architect had a hand in the design.

Pulsing instrumental music beat overhead, and she swallowed anxiously. The arena was the color of pool tables—artificial lawn green.

Around the square were blue strips advertising sponsors. Red boxing ring ropes fenced off the spotlighted arena, and she involuntarily started when Ryohei stepped into view, stretching calmly. His unruly white hair was framed by white headgear, and he slipped in his mouth guard before donning two red gloves. The man—boy—was a collection of hasty angles: slanted brows, chiseled jawline, narrow waist, jutting calves, and tapered ankles. His spine held it all together, somehow; held all the angles in one plane, one fluidity. He was tall for a boxer, she would give him that. From what she'd glimpsed on television (her uncle was a fan), the boxers were commonly stout and sturdy.

Hana had always known him as "Kyoko's older brother"—and she suddenly didn't recognize "Ryohei."

She watched with her heart in her throat as he climbed onto the ring, soon joined by his opponent of similar height. The other boy was considerably less angular, she decided—"softer."

The lightweight boxers touched gloves, blue and red bumping together.

The bell clanged.

After a preliminary dance on light feet and heavy centers, the boys traded fierce blows. Ryohei landed the first few—a jab-cross-hook-uppercut combination that had his opponent staggering for balance. He closed in for a knockout, but they weren't finished just yet. The other boy—Akihiro, according to the flashing display board—surged up with vengeance, landing a series of body blows on the thinner boxer. The attack, however, exposed his head, and Ryohei dodged the blows as they came, stepping in with a jab, leading off of his toes for the successive punch and swinging his hips and elbow in a tight arc as he landed a nasty left hook to Akihiro's jaw. He swiftly retracted his arm to a ready position beneath his chin before his elbow could clip his opponent, a forbidden move.

The stockier boy's cheek rippled at the impact.

Hana felt her stomach drop.

Neither was _remotely_ soft.

Akihiro raised both elbows and hunched, defending from Ryohei's third advance. He was forced into a corner of the ring, back pressing against the ropes.

Hana felt sick.

At the first pause in the flurry, he threw a jab at Ryohei's face, reinstating their former distance as the white-haired boxer retreated.

With a better view of Ryohei, she noted the blood running down the edge of his lip. She clenched her fists, shaking. He was smiling. It wasn't the maniacal grin of a man who went for gore—it was the steady confidence of a man who spoke with punches. She briefly wondered if there was a sense of poetry to the way he moved and timed the jabs. He didn't rush in an animalistic manner, but he _was_ fast. His moves had years of experience behind them, but his pacing was spontaneous; a living, breathing creature.

Boxing, she supposed, suited him. You _had_ to be extreme for it to light up your eyes as you became a virtual punching bag. How he maintained equanimity, she could not begin to comprehend. But he seemed more at home in the ring than he had ever seemed at school—a restless, loud truant.

She felt the opposite: school dulled her pulse, and stepping into the stadium sent it skyrocketing.

Her attention fully returned to the match when Ryohei suffered an abrupt knockdown, face contorted in a picture of pain. Fans booed, screaming at the referee about a kidney punch, another forbidden move. Before the referee could act, however, Ryohei pushed himself up. Akihiro flinched, unsure if he should take advantage of the delay or forfeit the match to avoid his inevitable comeuppance. No one would be able to tell whether the kidney blow had been intentional or not.

How many times had he fallen for the chance to spar with Ryohei? How many times had he bled, bruised, and backpedaled into the ropes?

He considered his opponent grimly, knowing he only had one chance.

The fans jeered. His roared.

But what did they know, anyway? They were in it for the dopamine high. He was in it for the long haul.

He closed in, moving deftly.

Hana couldn't breathe. Nothing was making sense anymore. The screams blurred into a single static in her brain, and she stood still, eyes straining wide. Even if she screamed at him, it was unlikely that her voice would carry over the others. Besides, Kurokawa Hana did not scream.

But in that moment, she was sorely tempted to.

With nothing to do but watch, she felt something inside her unravel. The searing heat within her made her reaction to the cow-print suit boy trifling in comparison. Something was building inside her, something that felt awfully close to poison, what with the way it intoxicated her and sent the blood rushing to her face. His limp form on the canvas seemed to breathe fire into her lungs.

Ryohei rose slowly, sparing her the agony of wait. He lifted a left arm weakly. The sight made her ache to close her eyes—but she owed it to him to watch to the very end.

Akihiro stepped in for a straight right.

Seconds before contact, Ryohei ducked underneath his opponent's arm, landing an uppercut. He followed with impeccable footwork and a flurry of body jabs, finishing with another devastating left hook sucker punch.

Akihiro fell to the side and stayed down.

The count began.

1.

Dead silence.

2.

The crowd chanted along.

3.

The boy's trainer shifted in his seat.

4.

The corner man rushed to Akihiro's side, showing the counts on his fingers as though his boxer was blind. _Get up, _his brain screamed. _Stay down, _his bones simpered.

5.

6.

Akihiro twitched.

7.

8.

9.

He lifted his head.

10.

It fell back down.

Knockout.

Hana wanted to cry.

.

.

.

She came across him afterwards, after he had been thoroughly mobbed by a swarm of supporters. It had been quite an accident, really; she had stuck around without knowing why, and he had walked into her, reflexively gripping her arm to keep from stumbling.

As he looked up, he grinned.

"You came."

"Yeah..." she managed awkwardly, knowing they were equally surprised. "Are you... alright?" Fresh blood dripped from his nose.

He released his grip sheepishly. "Sorry."

The stadium had cleared out, and Hana began to feel self-conscious. "Well, congratulations." She wished she had brought a few tissues; watching him box was one thing—watching him bleed was another. She had a feeling they recurrently went hand in hand. Ryohei appeared quite at ease, however, thrilled in spite of his wounds.

"It's because you came," he commented casually, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Pardon?" She was awed that she had witnessed the unhygienic act and felt no need to back away.

"I won because you came."

She would trust the man's skill within an inch of her life, but she could not fathom his thought process. "But... you weren't aware that I came, right?"

"Does it matter?" he smiled, peeling off his white elastic hand wraps.

"Yes, because you're not making sense," she began impatiently, falling into old habits. Her gaze followed the unwinding of the gauzy material as Ryohei's hands emerged, knuckles reddened and digits pale from the pressure applied. He flexed his fingers, and Hana blinked down at her canvas shoes, unexpectedly dizzy.

"I'm making perfect sense," he contradicted, laughing at her galled shock. He had never confronted her before, either dodging or answering from an entirely different angle. She'd frequently thought him to be slow, but it seemed he also exercised selective hearing. "You'll understand someday. It all makes perfect sense now."

"Can you spare five minutes?" she burst, harking back to her second year at Namimori. _You need to tell me what the hell is going on here._

"Not now," he reluctantly replied, eyes holding hers. "But soon."

"Just," Hana sighed, exasperated. "Why me? Why now?" She grit her teeth, allowing herself this breach of habit. She had trained herself not to question what she couldn't answer. It had worked splendidly for tests, but got her nowhere with Ryohei.

"I've never been able to convince Kyoko to come to a match. But you came," he restated, as though it was obvious and she had to be dense to miss it.

"Yes, but _why _did you ask me to?"

"I can't tell you."

Hana stared at him incredulously. Was this guy reading off the pages of _How to Piss Off Kurokawa Hana in Four Words or Less?_ "If you're going to treat me like Kyoko, forget it. I won't bite; you can't feed me the shitty excuses you fed her." The guy could throw a punch, but what came out of his mouth left much to be desired.

"I don't treat you like Kyoko," he admitted quietly, dropping his gaze.

It was a loaded statement, and she reacted to it as one would to a cocked gun.

Hana had the impulse to bolt, but after standing through the entire ten rounds, her tendons had other plans. She wanted to flee to somewhere far, far away from this man—boy—and the absurd mind tricks he had to be playing on her. "Would it kill you to explain yourself?"

"...No, but it might kill _you_." Ryohei glanced at her seriously. "It's late. I'll walk you home."

"I rode my bike here."

"Then I'll run. It'll be a great post-match exercise," he enthused, eyes twinkling.

"You're in no state to run a mile and a half," she chastised. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't be Hana," he tossed back, rolling his eyes. "What if I demanded that?"

"This isn't funny," she grunted. "You're on the verge of collapse and my parents are bound to worry, so I'll just get home. I suggest you do the same before you pass out."

"I won't pass out," he retorted, offended. "I could stand here all night—"

Fed up, Hana clamped a hand over his mouth, ignoring his reddening cheeks. "Maybe, but I think it's in your best interest if you don't."

"I can't let you go home alone," he blurted once she'd removed her hand, overlooking her cringe as she wiped it on her burgundy wool jacket. "What if something happens?"

"What would happen?" she ventured carefully.

His grey eyes clouded over. "Anything. Nothing. I don't know."

Slumping in defeat, she sighed. "Then let's go. I'm not going to be held responsible if the cops find you collapsed in the middle of the street tomorrow morning."

"What a horrible thing to say," he mused.

"Then don't collapse," she returned tartly.

He kept a steady pace behind her as she biked home. Not that she had glanced backwards to check on him—but she could hear his light footfalls, a constant rhythm.

_What a strange boy_, she thought.

* * *

06

.

While cleaning the chalkboard, Hana caught sight of Kyoko and Ryohei sitting on a bench just outside the window, with their backs to her. Guiltily grateful the window was open, she moved closer.

"You're going end up freaking her out, you know."

"But she _cam_e_!_"

"It doesn't matter!" Kyoko elaborated, sighing. "She doesn't know about the bazooka, so you can't assume anything."

Silence.

"But... that's not fair," he muttered. "She came... and I won... and... and..."

Kyoko patted him consolingly. "Just tell her. Tsuna told _me_, didn't he?"

Ryohei ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But what good did it do? It gave you nightmares and you couldn't do anything about it."

"You know..." Kyoko swallowed. "The future you saw... it's not necessarily fixed. Anything can happen. Assuming you never tell her... that future might never be yours." She regretted her words instantly as her brother paled, resting his head in his palms. "Ah, but, that's not to say—"

"I get it," he interrupted with a leaden heart. "I'll never tell her."

* * *

07

.

She attended his matches many times after that.

Hana was careful to hide the fact, avoiding him whenever possible in and out of school. She had seen him lose only once, when he had been knocked unconscious. It took all of her willpower to come to his next match, but she soon overcame her qualms. He had healed in a remarkably short span of time.

She was beginning to realize the fundamental difference between them.

Her first impression of Ryohei had been far from satisfactory. He came crashing into her life under the title of "someone I must tolerate for Kyoko's sake," and in six years graduated to a looming question mark she couldn't shake from her mind. He was excessive, overprotective, and dogged. He never did anything halfway. Damned beast had the tenacity of the devil, and the kindness of anything but.

If Hana's aloof disposition was built on the belief that she did not want her reality, then Ryohei's boundless energy was built on the belief that he would change his reality.

It was then that she realized: if anything, she was _inferior _to him.

She purposely missed a few of his matches, bitterly fighting the desire to watch him do what he loved with a pride and dignity she had come to understand, because it was not hers to wield. Outside the arena, she could only muster sidelong glances at him before turning away resentfully. What burned in the pit of her stomach each time she laid eyes on his crouching form—headgear, mouth guard, gloves and all—was an inextricable tangle of marvel and jealously.

How could Kyoko refuse?

Sure, it frayed her nerves—but there was nothing else like it.

And it just so happened that Ryohei was not her brother. Hana wondered if she would want to watch him if he was, and decided she did not wish to consider any scenario in which Ryohei was her blood relative. She felt alive when she watched him box. But she felt herself growing distant with her grasp of reality, and what she wanted to do with her life.

It frightened her that he could do that to her, even unwittingly.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Hana was not choleric by nature; in fact, she seldom reacted to the stimuli imposed on her, regarding most troubles as unworthy of expending effort on. She had made an exception for Kyoko. But there was something about Ryohei's resolve that engulfed her whole, threatening to drown her when he so much as looked her way.

"My brother? Nah, that's just his default gaze," Kyoko tittered, amused. "He's not actually scary."

But Kurokawa Hana was scared.

She idly wondered if she could hate him for that.

.

.

.

She couldn't.

.


	2. Dormant

_Dormant - "when a seed falls to the ground and does not grow because it lacks moisture."_

* * *

Time ticks in sotto voce,

soft cottonwood fluff

you can never quite

catch.

* * *

01

.

Hana biked past a cluster of elderly neighbors doing morning calisthenics, ringing her bell in response to a wave. A coral blush of sunrise dusted the horizon, and she absently lingered in the chilly touch of the wind—tickling her cheeks, teasing her hair, rippling her unbuttoned jacket.

It was nice to be out in the open.

She'd always thought her room too small; there wasn't enough space to pull the drawers out all the way—she had to sneak her slim hands in and rummage around for what she needed. For convenience, she made sure she needed little. It embarrassed her to be caught craving more than what she had. She never ate more than one bowl of rice, never went for refills on any drink, never took more than one of whatever was offered to her as a guest.

Since her first year of high school, she had begun to find the room too small in a nonliteral sense. When Kyoko came over, they went out, not inside. The compact chamber had been comforting at first, a nest or cocoon of sorts. But when she edged in sideways and settled onto her bed now, she felt that everything around her was wilting, peeling at the edges. And there was the unresolved layer of dust atop her bookshelf (there wasn't enough room to wedge in a ladder or chair from which to clean it).

A cocoon was only as meaningful as the butterfly that emerged from it.

What then, if the butterfly never broke through its chrysalis?

It suffered an excruciating death by suffocation.

Hana slept with her window open, because the chill gave her something to conquer.

* * *

02

.

There existed a peculiar student in class 1-3, a petit girl who garnered sympathy from even the stingiest of souls, which, of course, made the cynic in Hana crow with bitter vengeance_. "They're not treating her kindly because they're kind,"_ she would think to herself, gritting her teeth. _"All the kindness amounts to an ego-boosting exercise. A phony feedback loop without a hint of honesty."_

Ryoko was her name.

Simply put, the girl could not read kanji to save her life.

She was above average in nearly every other area, and had no tag of "developmental disorder" to differentiate her from the group. But there was something bumbling about the way she spoke, the way her eyes would drift to an upper corner as if trailing the flight of an imaginary balloon lost to the stratosphere. She was allotted an extra twenty minutes on every test, and seldom called on in class. She was often the last one in and the last one out of the classroom, taking her sweet time, savoring each step. Her long, straight hair swung side-to-side when she walked. Everything about her screamed "daydreamer."

Hana wondered what it would be like to live at her own pace.

There was always something that required her to hurry up. The bell would chime soon. Winter break would be over soon. The train would leave soon. University entrance exams were coming up. She packed her own lunch, but school would start soon and would she please hurry up and get her behind on her bike seat.

Those sorts of things.

"What would you be doing right now if you didn't have to go to school?" Kyoko had asked curiously. They were eating lunch on the rooftop, as Hana found herself in a much better mood when isolated from the raucous atmosphere of the classroom during break.

"Traveling," Hana had responded without a moment's hesitation.

"So you're the wanderlust type, huh?"

"I think I'd find a place I liked enough to settle down... eventually," she managed, not denying Kyoko's assertion but not liking the sound of it either. "What about you?"

Kyoko paused. "Hmmm. I don't know..."

Hana wondered why _"I don't know"_ reminded her of _"I can't tell you." _The wind picked up and howled more than it whistled. She pulled her uniform tightly around herself, annoyed by the way her knees shook. She raised a clump of lukewarm rice to her lips with a twitching hand.

Kyoko said what she wouldn't. "It's getting cold, don't you think? Let's go inside."

* * *

03

.

Hana was doing the dishes when her father appeared at her side, studying her lazily. He had the daily newspaper in one hand and a cup of jasmine tea in the other. He set the mug on the granite countertop, wedging the paper under an arm. He loomed above her at six foot five, but his voice gave him away—it was too weary to be young.

"It's getting a bit long, don't you think? Your hair."

She set a royal blue plate on the rack, mumbling, "What's it to you?"'

Unperturbed, he continued, scratching his prickly chin, "Just a few inches off the bottom… a trim, yeah? You're beginning to resemble a cat lady."

A bowl slipped through her soapy fingers. She caught it before it hit the sink. "I'm getting good grades." She resolutely stared into her hands, signaling an end to the conversation. _You have nothing to complain about. __If it's my appearance, blame your genes. If it's my choices, leave me be._

Kurokawa Yuuto shrugged, turning to leave. "That alone won't get you through life."

Hana scrubbed the bowl vigorously, peeved by their exchange.

Her mother strode into the kitchen with a laptop, waiting for Yuuto to leave before pouring herself a cup of tea. Matsuoka Nao had little in common with her husband; she had a tendency towards euphemism, and a manner of chuckling to herself that sounded a smidgen too pretentious, even to her daughter. For all her showiness, her wardrobe was scant and her self-discipline bordered on the extreme. She awoke at the crack of dawn to run laps around the block, claiming that a decent figure didn't shape up overnight. She seldom changed out of her business suit, exuding an air of sophistication. Her hair was nearly always pinned in a fashionable bun with a few strands of hair sticking out in just the right places. She applied makeup sparingly. Yet there was a quality of edginess to her beauty, a certain inclemency.

"So career day is coming up," Nao spoke casually, tossing a glance at her daughter. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Um... maybe I'll be a chemist. Or a pharmacist."

Her mother nodded. "You have the brains for it. Dabbling in the arts doesn't mesh with your aura."

"...My _aura_?"

There was that breezy laugh again. "You know… that _bohemian_ vibe artists have. You're more practical."

With that, Nao retreated into her office.

Hana felt insulted, despite the fact that her mother had just complimented her intelligence.

* * *

04

.

Hana did not understand the hyperactivity that preceded Valentine's Day.

She also did not understand the female gender's fascination with males exhibiting raging hero complexes. Was subtlety lost on her generation? Falling for the big picture meant ignoring all the lesser issues—issues Hana could not turn the other cheek to. Anyone with so grand an image had to be concealing an undesirable interior. (At least, that was what she told herself.) When she flatly refused to partake in their spirit, her classmates would simply roll their eyes and state that the more tortured the soul, the more alluring the appeal.

If she knew how to chuckle like her mother, she would have. It had an off-putting effect that made you suddenly aware of all your foot-in-mouth moments prior to the laugh.

She could understand the allure of a candlelit dinner, but not the squabbling mess of ingredients for a small box of homemade sweets. The third-years had just completed their university entrance exams in January, and were more than willing to boost the morale of the student population.

Hideki passed her in the crowded halls, waving a box of gratuitously decorated chocolates in her face. "Are you ever going to loosen up, Kurokawa? It can't be fun, being the Ice-Queen type."

What was with high schoolers and assigning "types" to other people?

"Where's Sasagawa?" she took the opportunity to ask, knowing the two were close.

"Ryohei? In the gym, training. Why, do you have something to say to him?" he jeered, smirking.

She brushed his taunt aside, striding away from the boxing enthusiast. "Kyoko hasn't been at school for the past three days. Of course I have something to ask him."

.

.

.

She found him doing one-armed pushups in the weight-lifting room.

"Excuse me..."

A full year had passed with no words between them. Hana felt herself stiffen in front of him, throat dry.

He craned his neck to glance up at her, freezing. "Oh, uh, Kurokawa."

Her nose crinkled at the pervasive stench of sweat. She composed herself with nerves of steel and persisted, "I assume you're aware that Kyoko has been absent for three consecutive days."

Ryohei shifted into a cross-legged position. "You're concerned."

Hana pinched the bridge of her nose. "No shit, I'm concerned. Just tell me—is she safe?"

"She's sick with the common cold, resting from a fever. Nothing to worry about." Ryohei rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Why do you always seem to think she's in some sort of danger?" _I'm extremely capable of protecting her, thank you very much _was the subtext.

"Why do you always look like you've narrowly escaped danger?" she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

He grinned. What kind of person _grins _in response to a question like that? "When you're _extreme, _you attract_ extreme _circumstances."

Hana sighed.

"You..."

She rolled up her sleeves, feeling unpleasantly warm. "What?"

"Never mind," the boxer grunted, unsettled.

"I went out of my way to come here," she crouched, malice creeping into her tone, "so you better leave me with some satisfying answers. You're graduating this summer. You've nothing to lose by telling the truth." There was a reason Ryohei tanked his tests. Perhaps he busied himself with boxing, but he spent most of his free time away from school. What other extracurricular activities he had, Hana had no way of knowing. But since their first meeting six years ago, Namimori's crime rate had steadily inched up.

Local curfews had been imposed, and police often patrolled the streets at night. The only incident Hana had ever witnessed was a mugging; it had been in broad daylight over a flamboyantly red purse. There was nothing else to be said on the matter. People went hungry sometimes.

His gaze hardened. "You're wrong," he replied with unusual grimness, "there's always something to lose." _That's what makes life worth the fight, _he added. He reconsidered the girl before him, wondering why he had never applied that logic to her. She hadn't changed much over the years—only recently had she started tucking her hair behind her ears. It softened her appearance, but made her tone no less biting. She hadn't changed much—but had he? What the mafia required of him was no different than what he required of himself: few words and powerful punches. He'd always been impulsive. He knew what had to be done. How to protect.

She had been the first to make him doubt himself.

"Youstoppedcomingtomymatches," he mumbled in a blur, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

"I... I had other things to do," she stammered, taken aback. Had he noticed that she'd gone to many of his matches after the first? She felt herself retreating into a shell, drained of self-assurance. There were too many unknowns. She felt the ground beneath her swallowing her whole. Backpedaling, she tripped over nothing at all and stumbled into the wall. The sunlight was weak, but bright enough to blind her through the windows. The training equipment threw long shadows on the floor and Hana once again felt she was the odd one out in the room.

He laughed, shaking his head. "Maybe I hallucinated that time..." _What kind of past led me to that future? _

There was always something _off _about him—something that made her uncertain of her own judgment.

Something that made her linger.

"I'll leave the notes on your desk for Kyoko," she murmured, scrambling for the exit, face flushed with humiliation. Hana ran from the training room, unable to recall the last time she had so blatantly violated hallway rules. No one stopped her, but she did turn quite a few heads.

Hideki watched her sprint out the school entrance with amazement.

_Must've been one hell of a question she asked, _he mused.

.


	3. Seedling

_Seedling - "a young developing plant."_

* * *

You think me boorish

but we breathe

the same.

* * *

01

.

Sasagawa Ryohei measured people by their stride, their gait.

Kyoko had a bounce in her step. Their father lumbered. Their mother walked levelly, as if she was constantly balancing a book on her head. There was an aspect of woodenness to her gait.

Ryohei didn't care for inner conflict or complexity. He found that strides were often telling anyway, divulging the finer details. He trusted his senses and sensed where to place his trust. You didn't make it through a match by tucking your tail in-between your legs. You kept moving, mind and body one motion.

"It's not _what_ you do," his former boxing senpai had stated through a grin of crooked teeth. "It's how you do it." Several weeks prior, on a fateful day, his preteen peers had snickered and tossed him a pair of old boxing gloves after he'd accused the senpai of leaving derogatory notes in his locker. Ichirou simply rolled up his sleeves in defense. "Around here, we settle problems with fists."

Ryohei vividly remembered the first beating he had taken in the ring, how he had fumbled when lacing up the borrowed ten ounce gloves, inwardly pleading for justice.

Justice was served.

Just not in his favor.

"I'll see you next week," Ichirou had winked before removing his headgear, sweat beading his temples. "I'll forgive you if you land a hit."

The white-haired boy had groped blindly at the ropes, vision swimming, gut stirring. His elbows trembled. There were no degrees of grey in-between the black and white. You got up or stayed down.

You won or lost.

Ascertaining first that Kyoko had a walking buddy, he took to running around the block each morning at seven thirty, an hour before class began. His mother took issue with the DVDs of Muhammad Ali stacked on his desk, setting his laundry primly on his bed and exiting warily. At fifteen, he manned the local convenient store for an entire summer and saved up for three pairs of boxing gloves, sixteen, eighteen and twenty ounces. He never memorized the quadratic formula but he could wrap his hands in his sleep.

_"__It's about being where you belong," _his mother chided, ushering him out of the kitchen after his "Extreme Cooking" had boiled over. Sasagawa Aina had salvaged the remains of the mustard spinach and dumped the rest of the blackened broth down the sink. Kyoko expressed mirthful gratitude for her brother's effort, remarking that it was as good a birthday present as any. The botched kitchen experiment did not dismay him. He reflected upon the incident as an affirmation of his beliefs—that he belonged to the realm of the extreme, and that decisions ought to be concise and clear-cut, of the yes-or-no variety.

What little attention he paid in class taught him the importance of survival. Evolution, war, calculation—success gave them worth.

No hesitation. That was his creed.

In the following years, he made fewer friends in class and more in the ring. He preferred wordless communication. There were fewer misunderstandings that way.

It took Ryohei by surprise when Sawada Tsunayoshi came to his notice. The flyweight had a brooding stride and a slouch that worsened his diminutive shoulder width. An unconfident one, that boy. He was prone to overreaction and the best target Ryohei had ever spotted.

He left two battered ten ounce gloves on Tsuna's desk and a note that read: "Meet me in the ring."

Tsuna had balked upon walking into the gym and spotting the boxer devastating a punching bag. The chains above the bag clinked and clanged, swinging wildly with every jab.

He swallowed. "I—I don't want to fight."

"Yes or no, Sawada."

"What—?"

"Yes or no."

The boy scratched his head. "There must be some misunderstanding..."

Ryohei sighed. "Extreme workouts should be embraced, Sawada."

Kyoko arrived in the nick of time, saving Tsuna some face. She granted her brother a knowing look, gently urging Tsuna out of the gym as he sputtered nonsense.

.

.

.

It's all in the eyes.

Timid bronze giving way to willful vermillion.

X-gloves, boxing gloves, same difference.

Ryohei admitted his newfound respect for the scrawny middle school student by never challenging him to another match in the ring again. He did not find it at all strange that he possessed a "flame," or that it was of the sun. It was merely another confirmation of his extremity.

Everyone starts out as ore to be mined, refined.

He was a diamond in the rough.

* * *

02

.

The first time Kyoko brought Kurokawa Hana over for a visit, he prickled in her presence. She set a fast pace and always seemed to be _headed_ somewhere. She kept her back straight, head high, and knees barely bent. It was proper form. But there was no hint at her personality in her stride. It was impersonal and cold. Upon exchanging a few obligatory words with her, he realized that perhaps "impersonal" and "cold" were personality traits after all.

It almost seemed to Ryohei that the two girls were polar opposites. But their extremes came together somewhere in the middle, and there was a certain harmony to it.

So he approved.

Hana began frequenting the Sasagawa household on a weekly basis, and he took less and less notice of her. Their parents routinely arrived home late, after dinner. The three students would often eat together; Kyoko cooked, Hana washed up, and Ryohei... ate. And ate. He told a joke once, trying to get a laugh out of the stiff girl sitting to his left. She merely glared at him and bit out a retort about his immaturity, setting her chopsticks down loudly and excusing herself to the bathroom. Ryohei lowered the bowl of miso soup from his lips.

Kyoko smiled and explained that Hana had difficulty tolerating "boyish antics."

Hana was extreme in her own way, he supposed, but it did not harmonize with him as it did with Kyoko. There was dissonance in their differences, dissonance itching to resolve down to the tonic of the scale. She puzzled him, and he preferred not to work his mind into a frenzy. He had his goals, and none of them concerned her.

Eventually, she would graduate, leaving Namimori behind. Time would erode what little understanding they had built.

.

.

.

Then they were swept into the future. Ten years were ten too far ahead.

He had his goals, and he didn't like to see things turn out differently.

But of course, any dislike for what he saw only prompted him to fight harder.

In a moment of respite, he visited his home. His boxing gloves were where he left them, where he always left them—on his desk, crowding out the papers and books he scarcely touched. They were familiar sights, but his room appeared to be nothing more than a relic of the past. The bed sheets were folded away in the closet, the computer unplugged, and the calendar unchanged from several years ago. His eyes caught the gleam of light glancing off a photo frame, and he drew closer.

A woman beamed at him, blue-eyed and pale but exuding warmth.

Her hairstyle was radically different.

Her...

It was too late to divert the wellspring of shock that gushed forth.

Was she alive? Was she dead?

Was he responsible for it?

Life and death were absolutes. His sister was an absolute. Tsuna was an absolute—Tsuna and what Tsuna stood for. He fought for them. They were life.

The woman in the photo frame was not an absolute. He knew her, but also didn't.

He didn't know what the hell to think.

They returned conspicuously, having missed a fair amount of school. Hana didn't grill Kyoko with an interrogation, but he could tell she was just as disgruntled as he was.

He began noticing little things about her. Irritating trivia, like the way she paused to flick her hair over her shoulder before a test (and the many times she paused to repeat the action during the test), or the tense way she gripped a pencil, the resentful way she gazed out the window as to begrudge the outside world for keeping her inside, the way her hands balled into fists when a classmate cracked a tasteless joke, or the different types of glares she had—the "you're in my way" glare, the "shut up" glare, the "you're not as funny as you think you are," glare, the "give me a break" glare, the "you're embarrassing me" glare, and so on.

Then there was the "Ryohei glare"—and he discerned that she was the sort of cold that burned.

He decided it was time to decide.

And so he asked her.

.

.

.

His pulse thundered in his ears, but he was steady on his feet.

Ryohei raised both fists in the air as his opponent fell, reveling in the pride of being a boxer, of facing the enemy head on, fists ready. The floodlights were blinding, but that only assuaged him. He had already encountered a blinding arena once—and this way, he would not be distracted by trying to find her.

He found her.

Hana stood awkwardly near the first row of bleachers, making no move to follow the masses exiting the stadium, hooting and cheering for some beer to commemorate the match. Her florid cheeks were numb with cold, her eyes keen and her expression a mix of embarrassed and ashamed. She rubbed her hands together uncomfortably, nervous or trying to keep warm or both.

He approached her with a twinge of restlessness, the kind of shivers that wracked his shoulders when facing off an old foe in the ring—someone who made every bruise and broken rib worth its while.

Someone who put him on edge.

As long as he kept his pace, they could harmonize. The spokes of her bike wheels spun and spun, and he stamped an absolute on the sound of his shoes hitting pavement and her feet working the pedals, mind and body one motion.

.

.

.

Ryohei nearly waved to Hana on the way to school, but hesitated, closing his palm into a fist.

He didn't know her, not really. She didn't know him either, not really.

And that was how it ought to be.

_"__It's about being where you belong," _his mother admonished. Where, then, did she belong? Where did he?

He let her glare fan his flames and ran harder.

* * *

03

.

"Write it down," Kyoko advised, handing him a square pad of orange sticky notes and an ink pen.

"I don't need to write it down," he mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen for an energy drink.

"You've forgotten for the past three years," Kyoko refuted with a pointed look.

"Fine, fine." Sighing, he accepted the sticky notes and retreated into his room.

_October 14__th__. Tsuna._

"Don't forget his birthday next year," she chastised, padding away with a playful smile.

He tore the top note off and stuck it to his bedframe.

_April 20__th__._

He scribbled the date out until the entire square was black.

* * *

04

.

Ryohei caught her glaring at him out of the blue, sometimes.

But the stare would only morph into a scathing glare the moment he turned.

Honestly, what did the girl _want_ from him?

The pugilist garnered conflict wherever he went. He confronted the immediate and trained for the future, come what may. But he was not accustomed to guessing. He'd always imagined that he would marry a boisterous, hearty woman somewhere down the road—someone with Kyoko's hospitality and his extreme spirit—and had been content with that assumption. He did not spend time mulling it over; there were far more important matters in his life.

He set his sight on the present. On punches and dodges, speed and power. The future would come in due time.

So what was the problem? Kurokawa was giving him a hard time. So what?

He'd seen her sniffing at enough kind gestures to know that she would not be moved by heroic displays or last-minute rescues. Yet her eyes searched wherever they glanced, thirsty for satisfaction. There were those who enjoyed their own blend of cynical misgivings, nursing a cup of misanthropy with pleasure. Hana was not one of them.

He could tell by the way she always straightened the chairs of the desks around her before leaving the classroom.

_I don't understand, _he thought.

It was something they had in common.

* * *

05

.

Ryohei caught Tsuna staring at his sister, the kind of staring that composes sonnets.

Kyoko hadn't noticed the effect she had on him, but they gravitated towards one another regardless.

"I trust him," she said plainly, squeezing his hand. "You do too."

Ryohei wondered if it was really that simple.

.

.

.

His graduation photo featured more of a grimace than a grin, a distortion of pinched cheeks. He had scraped by his senior year with below-average (but not failing) grades, relieved his homeroom teacher hadn't flagged him down with suspicion over the unexpected development. Since he was anything but ordinary, it followed that he would be capable of the extraordinary.

They laughed about it over coca cola and edamame at the Yamamoto family restaurant.

He'd agreed to lend a hand at the shop, forgoing university (he had been saving up, hoping Kyoko would choose to pursue her interest in teaching). His days would consist of boxing, sushi, and secrecy. All things considered, it sounded like a damn good life.

But he couldn't stamp an absolute on that assessment, not yet.

* * *

06

.

Hana had attended Ryohei's graduation ceremony at Kyoko's request.

His smile appeared stilted, his tie poorly fastened. A fresh scar adorned his jawline. He fidgeted in his crisply ironed shirt. It was possible that there was something endearing about the whole thing, but Hana chose to ignore it.

She learned from Kyoko that Ryohei would begin working right away instead of heading on to university. It suited him more, she reasoned, but she didn't know how to react to the news that she would be seeing more of him. Hana no longer visited the Sasagawa household, as her parents had put her under virtual house arrest to study for university entrance exams. Tohoku University was her aim. She had not asked about Kyoko's plans, aware that she might not like the answer.

As she sat before her desk reviewing class materials, a wave of drowsiness pulled her under. Her alarm clock read 12:36 A.M. The lamplight lulled her into a somnolent stupor, and her head drooped. The glow cocooned her in an oasis of light, and she had the fleeting sensation that she was the last human being left on earth.

Hana jerked awake, masking a yawn.

She glanced at the good-luck charm pinned to her wall—the one Kyoko had fashioned out of old cloth. A tassel had fallen loose, but Hana had sewn it back on with care.

The stitched smiley face appeared to mock her.

She turned back to her textbook.

.

.

.

The year passed sleeplessly, and the third week of March soon approached.

Ryohei returned in his poorly fastened tie and crisply ironed shirt with another scar, this one stretching over his chin. But gone was rigidity in his demeanor; he laughed freely, and Hana excused herself from the post-graduation party, citing an upset stomach. She did not hear the announcement of her name, but her legs moved at the expectant gazes of her classmates when she was called. She did not feel the diploma as it was handed to her, but her fingers curled around the parchment when a single camera flash went off in the audience. She was, technically speaking, on equal footing with Ryohei (with the status as a high school graduate), but she had never felt more distant.

It was just too cruel that she was sinking while he was waving from the shore with a grin on his face.

She supposed she didn't have anything to complain about. There were worse things than being admitted to a prestigious university. Kyoko still hadn't disclosed her future plans, and Hana was miffed that her friend did not trust her with the information.

Hana phoned Kyoko after the party, leaning against her bike seat.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Just wanted to let you know I'll be moving to Sendai next week."

"So soon? Where are you now—can I come over?"

Hana paused. "I'm by the neighborhood park." She craned her neck and considered the clouds as she spoke.

"I'll be right over," Kyoko assured, hanging up.

Hana climbed atop the jungle gym and followed the path of two swallows circling one another in the sky. Two giggles shook her out of her daze, and she blinked blankly as a little boy in a cow-print romper chased a girl with a single braid shooting up from her head around the playground.

Piqued by their innocence, she averted her gaze. Hana loathed children for the way they hung onto every word of the story only to bawl in disbelief when they were denied their own fairytale.

Then again, perhaps she always loathed what inspired bitterness.

.

.

.

Kyoko rushed over carrying a box of sushi. "From Takeshi. We don't see you around as much these days, but we used to eat out every month, and you always liked sushi."

Hana nodded, climbing down from the jungle gym. "Thanks."

The russet-haired girl settled into the swing, toeing the bark. "We missed you at the party."

"Could you do something for me?" Hana occupied the adjacent swing, staring straight ahead.

"What is it?" Kyoko studied her friend's face pensively.

"Tell me the truth. Or help me understand why you won't."

"I don't know what you—"

"You know what I mean," Hana countered, hands clenching the chains.

Kyoko smiled sadly. "It's... not my place to tell you."

"Then whose place is it?!" Hana snapped, startling several birds from their perch. "Your brother won't tell me either," she spoke, quieter. "Haru knows something too, but I can't approach her that easily." Had Haru known the truth all along, or had she simply been a better confidante?

Hana was sick of being smiled at.

She cringed when her mother smiled at her. It made her suspect the woman of hiding something too.

At Kyoko's silence, Hana continued, "I've been bothered since middle school. You guys were always disappearing randomly and showing up scraped and scarred, even looking a bit haunted. No one knew what you were up to. Yamamoto quitting baseball? It was unheard of. I never challenged you when you waved away my questions, fully aware that you prefer omission to lying.

"Well, here we are. I'm leaving for university and I still don't know anything about you, aside from what you project at school. If you can trust Tsuna, why can't you trust me? Why be my friend if you want to keep your distance?" She adamantly refused to make eye-contact, staring into her lap.

"I understand how frustrating it is to be kept out of the loop when you care deeply," Kyoko replied gently. "But I promised not to interfere, Hana. I'm so sorry I can't help you."

"Who can, then?" Hana muttered, pushing off her feet into an idle swing.

Kyoko deliberated for a moment longer before reaching out to place a hand on Hana's shoulder. "I want you to know that we'll always be here for you."

Hana quirked a brow. "We?"

"My brother and I," Kyoko smiled. "You'll know where to find us, if you ever need anything."

Hana snorted. "So you're all just going to stay here forever?"

"I'll be attending Namimori University with Haru," Kyoko elaborated. "The guys will find local jobs."

Hana froze. Haru, attending Namimori University? The girl was cut out for Tohokudai, at the very least. She consistently scored higher than their classmates in mathematics and physics, often contending with Gokudera for first place in final exams. "What are you doing with your life?" Hana croaked, turning to face her friend. "You know the teaching program here isn't worth a single penny. Weren't you obsessed with Hokudai when we first met?"

Kyoko folded her hands in her lap. "Hokkaido's too far from home. Besides, that was only a dream—you know I'm not sharp enough for Hokudai."

_That doesn't answer my question._

"Neither am I, apparently." Hana laughed to herself. "I didn't see any of this coming."

.

.

.

Kyoko saw her off at the train station eight days later.

Hana waved from the window of her compartment, mouth fixed in a grim farewell.

It began raining heavily.

Hana watched the world blur and popped in her earbuds.

* * *

07

.

It was a good thing, Hana determined, that she was too swamped in studying to worry about much else. She had been admitted to the pharmacy school and was working to graduate with honors. Summer vacation had just begun, and she had her hands full with an internship at a local lab, studying in-vitro drug metabolisms.

Her first day on the team set an unpleasant precedent for the days to come. The lead researcher was constantly peeping over her shoulder, criticizing her sloppy micropipette work (they had never touched such sophisticated equipment in high school). Her lab partner, Ueda Toshio, had only made her job more difficult. After every word of rebuke from their leader, Ueda sent her a contemptuous glance, delighted at her misery. He even went so far as to inform her that she would be washing their lab equipment by herself to atone for her incompetence.

"Are you sure you were admitted to the program?" he pestered nastily, and she prayed for patience and kept her fists rooted to her sides, twitching with humiliation.

As she turned towards the assay plate, Ueda caught her ponytail with a latex-gloved hand before it whipped him in the face.

"Your hair," he seethed, yanking it down as Hana gasped in pain. _"It's in the way."_

Hana arrived in the lab the next day with her hair cropped to her chin and a resolve second to none.

* * *

08

.

She missed Kyoko's birthday for the first time.

She mailed her a bakery gift card and a thousand apologies for the delay.

* * *

09

.

A researcher at the lab asked her out to lunch. Tall, wire-framed glasses, fancy watch and fancier vocabulary.

"No thanks" was halfway out of her lips before he had even finished.

He pressed a note into her hand and strode past without another word.

Mystified, Hana unfolded the paper.

_I know the truth about your Namimori friends._

.

.

.

She sat across from Ando Minoru in a dimly lit restaurant with plush violet seats and silk tablecloths.

"Based on your direction of research, I'd say you're more apt for toxicology."

Hana kept her hands under the table, fixing her steely gaze on his. "I'm here to hear the truth."

Ando leaned across the table, breathing cigarette smoke into her face. "And I'm here to strike a deal." He turned to his briefcase, withdrawing a bulging manila envelope and sliding it across the table. Crossing his arms, he relaxed into the chair, smug and comfortable.

Pulse pounding, Hana repeated, "The truth. Let's have it."

Chortling, Ando adjusted his glasses before edging closer, both elbows on the table. "I'm going to hand you a list of specifications, you're going to concoct the deadliest poison you can think of, and we'll proceed from there."

"_What?_" Hana glanced around, noting the lack of people around them. "Are you crazy?"

"If you can prove it works, I won't make you test it on yourself." Ando patted the envelope. "You'll be compensated for your efforts, of course. In addition to receiving full disclosure of what your friends have been up to these four years."

"Why can't you recruit someone else to... _participate_ in this activity?" Hana looked askance at his offer, backing up against the folding screen between her table and the next. "I'm a sophomore in university. I haven't even earned my degree yet."

Waiting for their waiter to leave, Ando laughed good-naturedly as he flicked through the menu.

"No need to be so modest. You were singled out for your toxicity obsession and connection to an underground network."

"Connection to a..." she stood suddenly, knocking over her glass of water. True, she had taken to toxicology as of late, camping out in the reference section of the library, scouring texts cover to cover—but going on to imply that she was interested in formulating a toxin was ridiculous. "I don't know what you're getting at, but I was admitted to Tohokudai without any '_connections_.'"

He raised a placating hand while mopping up the spill. "Please, sit. I did not intend to insult your integrity. But your friends' debauched extracurricular activities remain an issue, no? I believe we can help each other out."

"You asked me to help you poison people," she barked, still standing. "That's not on my to-do list."

"Did I say you would be poisoning people?" Ando seized upon the flicker of doubt in Hana's eyes. "Poisons can counteract one another. I could be searching for the ultimate antidote."

"Bullshit," Hana retorted, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I'm leaving."

He caught her in a wristlock. When she cried out, he clamped his other hand over her mouth, whispering, "It's a win-win situation, Kurokawa. Think about it."

When Hana wrenched herself free and glanced to the table, she saw that the envelope had vanished—and so had Ando. She paid for their drinks and hurried out of the restaurant, short of breath. Their brief conversation had effectively short-circuited her brain, and she struggled to regain control of the situation.

.

.

.

The lead researcher frowned quizzically. "Ando Minoru? There's no one here by that name."

.

.

.

Hana slid down against the door of her room, cradling her head in both arms.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed Kyoko's number.

* * *

10

.

Ryohei shook his head, pushing the drink away. "I'm extremely sober."

"You look like you could use a drink," the storm guardian shrugged.

The guardians had claimed a spot all to themselves—a corner booth in the sushi shop with a view of the other tables. The place was especially busy tonight, but Takeshi's father had given Ryohei the day off in light of his recent injuries. "You'll scare off all my customers," he'd groused, waving him away with a knife. Ryohei wisely accepted the leave and left the chef to his duties.

Kyoko burst into the shop, barreling towards their booth.

Ryohei started. "What's wrong?"

"Hana's in trouble," she blurted. Haru shoved her way out of the booth as Gokudera protested, firing off profanities as she pushed him off the end to reach Kyoko.

"What did she say?" the brunette inquired, grasping Kyoko's hands. "Her exact words."

"I can't recall her exact words, but… it was something about being bribed... being threatened…"

"Anything else?" Haru persisted. "It's likely she wasn't at liberty to give you the details."

"But what do we do?" Kyoko was on the verge of tears. "If it was just a bribe, she would've reported the man herself. She doesn't like to make a fuss... But I promised her we would help if she ever needed it."

"We need more information," Gokudera commented. "I'll talk it over with the boss. It would be best if we could meet her, or remove her from immediate danger."

Ryohei rose from the table. "You should get home, Kyoko. We'll figure something out." He motioned for the guardians to walk her home. As they left, he moved to the bar, gesturing for a drink.

"I thought you were 'extremely sober.'"

He shook his head. "You're still here?"

The brunette ripped the drink from his hands, slamming it down on the counter. "Get a hold of yourself, Ryohei. Maybe we can still get to Hana and smooth things over. Maybe it has nothing to do with us, and your conscience can rest easy. But if she called Kyoko, then it's got something to do with us. What are you going to say when she asks what the hell we've gotten her into?"

The sun guardian kicked at the stool. Several more tumbled over. "I'll… I'll tell her she's just being paranoid." Several customers turned to stare, whispering amongst themselves.

Haru got in his face and hissed, "Don't you dare do something so cowardly."

_"__I'm doing the right thing,"_ he snarled.

"What are you afraid of?" she murmured.

"Doing the right thing," he mumbled, looking for all the world like a glum child missing his mother.

.

.

.

They met her at the Namimori train station (Tsuna felt safer on home turf).

Kyoko pounced when the doors parted with a hiss, dragging Hana into a tight embrace. Haru waved and Ryohei flashed a disarming smile. He followed at the rear as the four of them headed for the parking lot. He found himself studying her stride for any changes. She had slowed her pace—perhaps for them—but her impersonal, cold gait remained the same. Her stride was slightly longer, increasing her hip movement.

Haru turned and smacked him on the arm. "Quit staring."

He could not find the words with which to explain himself.

.


End file.
